Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Lillian
As I went about my duties for the rest of the day, I found myself thinking of the orc in the dungeon.
Nay, not the orc. He had a name…Kragorn. I found myself thinking of Kragorn, the Bloodfire chief who’d looked so defeated—up until the moment I’d touched him.
And I wasn’t just thinking of him, was I?
I found myself praying he would survive the night and his fever would break. I made lists of the herbal remedies and poultices I could make to heal his wounds. I even began to gather a few things together when I was in the sick room…
Before remembering the orc was my father’s prisoner.
But.
But I’d been bringing food for him to the dungeon for months.
I knew my father didn’t want Kragorn dead.
I knew he went down there—took his friends and allies even—to gloat at his great prowess in battle…
even though I’d heard whispers the orc was only overcome by eight of father’s best warriors, and only after he’d slaughtered a dozen more.
My hands stilled as I finished pouring ale into my father’s favorite mug. I stared down into the froth, my thoughts racing.
My father hadn’t wanted Kragorn dead, but once the orc had tried to escape—and killed more men in doing so—did my father care? I remembered the way Kragorn had been chained so uncomfortably, the way his wounds hadn’t been treated…
“Come on, girl,” Father grumbled. “I’m thirsty.”
“I am sorry,” I whispered, hurrying to do his bidding. I carefully placed the pitcher on the tablecloth then settled the mug near his hand.
“’Tis cold, the way you prefer.”
“Good,” he grunted, and I blinked in surprise. Father rarely noticed me, much less my efforts to please him.
Tucking my hands into my skirts, I stepped back, giving him space to enjoy his ale before his dinner was served.
Or at least, that was my intention. Instead, my ruined foot twisted under me, and my hand shot out to grip the back of his chair.
I gasped, knowing falling would be a worse sin than spilling his ale.
I saw my father shoot a glance at me, his brows drawn down in a scowl, and I expected to be berated.
As if I could help the fact my injury hadn’t healed properly all those years ago. ‘Twas why I’d learned what I could of healing, to try to help other poor souls.
But instead of rebuking me, Father asked me instead, “You visited the beast today?”
I hesitated. What response would upset him the least? Ducking my head, I clasped my hands in front of me and moved so he could see me without having to crane his neck—something else which had sparked his ire in the past.
“I did, Father,” I murmured.
“What? Speak up, girl. Was the bastard dying?”
How to answer?
“He was not well. I know he was strong once, but not any longer.”
Father snorted in satisfaction and gulped his ale as he settled back against his chair. Servants began to bring out the food—succulent pig and roasted vegetables to attest to Father’s wealth this close to Hogmanay.
“The bastard killed two of my men trying to escape the other day, did you know that?” he mused, now watching the serving of the food instead of me. “That’s why he’s chained. I suppose you had to go into his cell this time, eh? Or did one of the guards do it?”
“I did,” I whispered, surprised by how loquacious he was being. “Since he was chained, I did not think him a danger.”
Another snort as Father plunked the mug down on the table and reached for his trencher.
“Don’t be fooled, Lillian, the bastard is vicious. He’d rip your arm off as soon as look at you.”
That’s what the guard had said, or similar enough. But Kragorn hadn’t seemed dangerous to me. In fact, he’d seemed…well, polite likely wasn’t the appropriate word for a defeated enemy, especially one half-mad with fever. But he’d looked at me, at least once, as if I were his savior.
That had been a heady feeling.
Since my father seemed to be in a talkative mood, I wondered if I could ask him what I’d been wondering all day.
“Father?” I edged closer just as he bit into the pork. “Would you mind if I asked you a question about the prisoner?”
He grunted an affirmative and waved the chunk of meat on the tip of his knife as he reached for his ale again.
Taking a deep breath, I kept my head bowed as I carefully worded my query. “Is it your intention he live? Or is his punishment…”
I didn’t know how to finish the question, but my father did.
He raised a brow at me over the lip of his mug, then lowered the vessel.
“You think I’d let the bastard slowly starve to death, bleed to death, all over my dungeon floor? Aye, you’re right…but I wouldn’t send my daughter down to deal with him if that were the case.”
I let my head come up, and I slowly exhaled as I stared at him in shocked silence.
Not that he’d called me his daughter—although that was rare enough as ‘twas, usually I was just girl when he needed something from me.
But it seemed to indicate that he thought I had value. That I was worth protecting?
He continued, which was good, because I couldn’t seem to find words to respond.
“Tomorrow, you’ll bring him what you think he needs to stay alive. I don’t need him healed or hearty, for God’s sake…” Father took a big bite of the meat then chewed as he mumbled, “he’s my enemy, after all.”
He swallowed, then reached for the ale again. “Just keep him alive. I have something special planned for him at Hogmanay, a guest I’m hoping to impress into an alliance, and I need the Bloodfire beast at least able to stand by then.”
Gripping my skirts in my suddenly sweaty palms, I backed away. “Yes Father, I understand. Thank you for explaining.”
Only, he hadn’t explained, not really. All I knew was that I wasn’t to let Kragorn die, and I told myself the spike of excitement I felt about that was because I’d feel that way about any being with whose care I’d been entrusted.
Another servant bustled into the Great Hall, struggling under a platter piled high with mutton. My father flicked his fingers at me dismissively as he eagerly watched the new addition to his meal.
Grateful for the release, I dropped a curtsey then backed away, allowing myself to breathe a sigh of relief only when I reached the steps to the kitchens.
Since my sisters had left Tarbert Keep for their marriages and Father no longer took pride in dressing us all up to show off at mealtimes, I was pleased to take my meals tucked away in a corner of the kitchens.
He hadn’t seemed to notice, or care.
That evening, I spent my time making lists of supplies. After I ate, I gathered what I would need then spoke with the cook. I’ll admit that while I didn’t actually lie outright, I did tell him I had my father’s orders to heal the orc, and he agreed to help me.
That night, I lay in my bed—I might be the youngest and most worthless of my father’s daughters, but I was still entitled to an actual bed in the chamber we used to share—and stared up at the canopy.
I remembered the heat from the orc’s skin, the way his lips had twisted in pain, the spark of interest in his dark eye. He’d been half-mad with fever and starvation, aye, but he’d watched me as if I were remarkable.
Worth watching.
Direct attention always made me uncomfortable and short of breath.
‘Twas why Father had never sought out a marriage contract for me. That, and I was the least attractive of my sisters, with my mousey hair and sallow skin and twisted foot. He’d said so often enough, which is why I’d tried so hard over the years to make myself useful.
Over these last months, when I’d felt Kragorn watching me, I hadn’t been surprised to feel prickles over my skin. But today, when I’d worked up the bravery to touch him…I’d felt those same prickles again. And they hadn’t been awful.
But he was a horrifying beast, one who had killed my father’s men.
They’d been trying to kill him.
Aye, but everyone knew what orcs did to their enemies—maim, slaughter, devour. I’d heard the stories.
So did Sorcha and Roxanna and Effie. But they married the beasts anyhow.
My sisters and cousins had been kidnapped, poor things. I knew their husbands were now Father’s allies, but they hadn’t had a choice in the matter. I could only imagine what horrors they must face in the orcs’ world…what pain and deprivation.
Aye, ‘twas better for me to remember the beast in the dungeon was that: a beast. A monster. His gaze might be clouded from pain, but surely that’s what he deserved.
Right?
But the next morning, I struggled to wait until the appointed hour I could gather my supplies and descend to the dungeons. I told myself I was just anxious to make my father proud of me, not that I wanted to see the beast again. Not that I wanted to heal him.
I recognized the lie for what it was as my breath caught when I saw that dark gaze watching me.
“Be careful with him, milady,” the guard—an older man today—grunted as he reached for the keys on his belt.
“Thank you,” I whispered, keeping my gaze down as I held out my tray. “I brought you some pottage and hearty brown bread, good sir. I know your dinner is not for hours yet, but I thought you might like to try some now?”
Why did I let out a relieved breath when he made appreciative noises and scooped up the bowl from my tray?
“I’ll not turn down your kindness, milady.” He unlocked the cell one-handed, then backed away to settle on a bench around the corner.
“Ooh, it’s still warm.” He sighed. “Just yell if ye need me, milady.”
I shouldn’t have felt relieved to have him out of the way, to have privacy with Kragorn…
but I did. Cautious, I shuffled into the cell, my wary eyes not leaving the prisoner.
Who looked…well, mayhap not stronger, but at least not quite at death’s door.
I glanced at the metal tray on the floor, still where I’d left it.
Had that bit of sunlight revived him at all?